Stop sobbing. Stop bitching. You're driving me insane.
Stop acting like the world is against you.
You brought this on yourself, so quit the fucking crying and whimpering already.
You just keep pushing and pushing. Don't you know that when you feed too much oil to a fire, you'll eventually get burned? You've known me since you were born, yet you somehow don't know the fucking limit.
Countless times you've pushed too far. You've caused the fire to lash out at you. Despite that, you continue to feed it. It builds larger and larger, because the damn fire is holding back—it doesn't want to hurt you.
But then you push too far, and when you go past the limit, and the fire has been bottling up it's burning flame, it all falls down onto you at once— all the repressed rage— tearing your skin away, burning it to black flakes of ash until your bones are so raw that it feels like they're broken.
Yet you continue feeding the fire, only making it worse for both ends. You never learn. You go over the line— to the end of the rope— to that last fucking straw. But you keep going and going and going, until there's nothing left to burn.
Not even the ashes of what's already burnt.
YOU ARE READING
Unprofessional Poems
PoetryJust poems that were written by a teenager who does really know what she's doing. Please read. I promise they're not terrible- just unprofessional, and sometimes kind of angsty.
